


a thousand miles from yesterday

by tentaclemonster



Series: 100 Fandoms Challenge [61]
Category: Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: 100 Fandoms Challenge, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bondage, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Desert Island, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, M/M, Other, Rimming, Size Difference, Tentacles, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23522563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentaclemonster/pseuds/tentaclemonster
Summary: Peter never escapes the Island of Bones.When Venom finally catches him, he decides that death is a kinder fate than Spider-Man deserves.
Relationships: Eddie Brock/Peter Parker, Eddie Brock/Peter Parker/Venom Symbiote, Peter Parker/Venom Symbiote
Series: 100 Fandoms Challenge [61]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1257083
Kudos: 364
Collections: The 100 Multifandom Challenge





	a thousand miles from yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> 061/100 for the 100 Fandoms Challenge. Written for prompt #24 – waves. Title from the song “No Man Is An Island” by The Script. 
> 
> This fic is based on The Amazing Spider-Man #347 where Venom kidnaps Spider-Man to a formerly inhabited tropical island (now deserted and thought cursed) in order to kill him once and for all where no one can stop him; the canon divergence is that Peter doesn’t find a way of faking his own death and escaping on a conveniently passing cruise ship here. You probably don’t need to actually read the comic in order to get this fic, though you should anyway since it’s a pretty good arc.

There’s nothing in the dead of night to keep the darkness from being absolute but the full moon above Peter’s head. 

The scantest beams of light from it peek through the jungle foliage above him where he sits on a sturdy branch high in a tree trying to keep his breathing quiet. His back is to the thick trunk whose bark feels rough against him, scratching his skin even through his costume, while his knees are pulled tight to his chest and his arms are wrapped around them. It is not a comfortable position, exactly, but it’s comforting enough for the fact that he can at least be  _ still _ . 

To not be running or fighting for his life for an entire ten, twenty, thirty minutes is a blessing. Peter tries to enjoy the little semblance of rest it provides for as long as he can, but it’s hard when he knows that it can’t possibly last. 

Venom is somewhere on the island right now just waiting for Peter to be on the move again. Maybe the symbiote has also stopped to rest, conserving his energy until morning, confident that there’s nowhere Peter can escape to in the meantime, or maybe he’s hunting Peter right now. Maybe he will be here soon and Peter will have to run again, fight again. Maybe this time he won’t be able to escape. Maybe this time he’ll lose.

Peter isn’t unfamiliar with being put between a rock and a hard place or fighting against losing odds. He isn’t even unfamiliar with fighting against what feels like an inevitable loss to  _ Venom _ specifically – but always, he has managed to persevere in the end. To save at least himself despite everything stacked against him and make it home, to keep fighting just a little bit longer. To keep doing good and refuse to let any odds, no matter how bad, keep him down.

Peter isn’t about to give up now, no, but the longer this goes on the less sure he is that his luck will hold true just one more time. 

Venom has, Peter must admit, sprung the perfect trap for him. He’s removed Peter to an isolated location where no one is around to help, where there is no easy escape. A location that – if Venom is to be believed – people actively avoid. No one knows where he is now and no one knows where he was before Venom had him frozen and brought here. Depending on how well Eddie Brock managed to cover his tracks, even when it becomes obvious that Spider-Man has gone missing and even if anyone manages to figure out that it was Venom who made him that way, discovering what Venom did with him might not prove to be simple or even possible. If Venom was smart enough to come up with this plan, then Peter would be foolish to think that he wasn’t also smart enough to conceal it.

Still, the only hope Peter has of getting off the island is in waiting for someone to rescue him or in making it to the next ship that he sees passing by before Venom can stop him again. Neither option holds any certainty. He has no idea how often ships pass by this place, if the one he attempted to make it to before was one of many or just a one off, or if there’s anyone who can find him. 

He has friends who will ask questions if Spider-Man goes missing, who have the resources to look for him. He has Mary Jane waiting at her sister’s place who Peter knows won’t just forget about him and move on with her life when he doesn’t come home to her no matter how much he begged her to just lay low and stay safe before he left, who he knows will go to some of the other supers they know for help if he’s gone for too long. 

While Peter knows being rescued isn’t out of the question, he also knows that it isn’t a guarantee. It will take time even if someone does manage to put the pieces together which connect his disappearance to Venom and Venom to this island, and time isn’t his ally in this place. He may have abilities more powerful than those of the average human would when up against Venom, but even he isn’t invincible. 

Already, he’s tired and aching, hungry and thirsty. Already, his web slingers are almost empty. Already, his fights with Venom since waking up on the beach have become closer than ever. 

Already all of this and it’s only been a day.

It’s difficult not to feel despondent, to not give in to the black hole of pessimism and despair that feels like it’s sucking him in when he thinks about what will happen if he doesn’t get out of this after all. 

It’s hard to not imagine Mary Jane waiting for him to come home to her, worrying about him and replaying their last conversation over and over again in her head. It’s hard not to wonder how long it will be before she realizes he’s never coming home again, to not think of Aunt May doing the same and to not picture them both missing him, mourning him together. It’s hard not to blame himself for all of it because while Peter knows that as much as most of this is Venom’s fault in actuality, it’s also partly his.

There would  _ be _ no Venom without him, after all. Perhaps if he hadn’t rejected the symbiote in the first place or if he’d done more to make sure he and Eddie stayed imprisoned in the Vault after they escaped the first time. Perhaps if he hadn’t been such a coward when he had the chance to end Venom once and for all, if he hadn’t empathized with the alien and with Eddie, if he’d been more capable of ending the symbiote and his host, of making that call.

There are so many things he could have done to prevent what’s happening now, to spare Mary Jane and Aunt May the worry they’re surely going to be feeling when he just disappears from their lives without a trace, to spare Peter himself whatever Venom has in store for him if he manages to catch him. 

Peter’s mind is overcome by waves of what ifs and regrets just as his body is overcome by waves of exhaustion and his stomach aches with hunger. He wants to sleep or go off in search of sustenance, but he doesn’t dare to. His spidey sense doesn’t work on Venom and so he has to stay awake and alert if he hopes to hear the creature coming before he catches him unaware, and likewise he is adverse to doing anything that might attract Venom to his location which trampling through the jungle in search of food and fresh water would certainly do.

He resists his body’s basic needs, but he knows he can’t go on like this forever. Food and water and sleep will all be necessary at some point and Peter is fluent enough in his own biology to know that point will be soon. 

All he can do is hold on for as long as he can and hope that he can stay a step ahead of Venom while in the back of his head, all Peter can picture an hourglass upturned and sand slowly leaking down from the top through the tight, narrow opening that releases the sand to the bottom. If he strains, he can hear every individual grain as it drops as though they’re as loud as a gavel banging on wood. 

Peter can’t escape the feeling that pervades throughout the entirety of his being that his time is running out.

*

Peter falls asleep without meaning to and without realizing he’s done it until his eyes are snapping open. His head jerks back with wakefulness and slams painfully against the trunk of the tree, forcing a pained cry from his mouth that he rushes to stifle. The moments after he quiets himself are eerily silent. The only sound Peter hears is that of his own heart pounding in his chest like he’d been running a mile a minute in his sleep and just woke up halfway through a marathon. 

He hasn’t been running, however, as he’s still in the tree exactly where he was before he unwillingly fell asleep. His whole body is stiff and desperately in need of a stretch because of it, an ache radiating down his spine and cramping in his legs. 

Peter ignores the discomfort along with his dry mouth and his hunger which sleep has done nothing to sooth. He also ignores the grimy, murky feeling of his skin beneath his costume which makes him feel like he needs a shower or ten in order to wash off all the sweat he’s shed since waking up on the tropical island and all the sand that has somehow managed to work its way beneath the fabric, the little grains grating against him annoyingly every time he moves.

Peter tries to ignore all of it. 

He reminds himself that these little discomforts are nothing compared to what he’ll feel if the only other sentient inhabitant on the island is around to catch him and so he busies himself with taking in his surroundings. He darts his eyes back and forth and down below him, looking around everywhere he can for any sign of Venom, but he sees nothing of the symbiote and nothing new at all except that it’s no longer as dark as it was before. 

There’s a dim light out now, a pale grey with a hazy orange glow off in the east. Sunrise, Peter thinks, and with it comes a wash of relief over him at knowing he has managed to survive the night. The relief doesn’t last long when he remembers he’s only survived  _ a _ night, which is just the first of god only knows how many more he’ll be on the island. Peter can’t predict how long it will take for either Venom to finally catch him or for luck to go his way and provide him with a means of escape. He hopes for soon, but realizes that the answer might possibly be never.

Peter can’t see Venom now, but he knows that means nothing when Venom can blend himself into his surroundings so well. Venom can look like anything,  _ be _ anything, and he’s getting more clever about his disguises all the time – that little trick yesterday with the lake was proof enough of that. 

Venom can be anywhere and look like anything and Peter won’t even know it until it’s too late, his spidey sense useless against the one being who now poses the most danger to him and his other senses not much better. Sight is nothing if Venom doesn’t want to be seen and hearing is nothing if Venom doesn’t want Peter to hear him coming. 

It’s these skills that have always made Venom such a dangerous foe – these and the alien’s single-minded crusade against Spider-Man. 

Strength, agility, intellect, and the ability to adapt are all strong enough weapons on their own, but Peter knows it’s the combination of them and Venom’s determination to use them against him specifically that truly makes him dangerous. 

Plenty of other villains would have given up on catching Spider-Man long before now or at least taken a hiatus in between their fights. Venom, however, will never give up. Peter knows this as intimately as he knows his own heartbeat and how it thumps almost painfully in his chest when he thinks of this battle with Venom continuing forever, repeating over and over again until one of them is dead, and he knows it as well as the dread that coils in his gut, snake-like and rattling, at his fear that it might be him on the losing end of their fight after all.

But Peter can’t let his fear control him. He can’t let his worry for the future or his worry over whether he even  _ has _ a future dominate his thoughts when the demands of the present are so much more pressing. All he can worry about now is his survival and as much as a part of him would like to survive by just waiting high up in this tree until someone comes to rescue him, Peter knows that it isn’t feasible. Venom will either find him here eventually or he’ll end up so dehydrated that Venom won’t even need to kill him as he’ll have done it to himself already.

Peter doesn’t sigh because he doesn’t want to make any noises he doesn’t have to, but in his head he does it anyway. 

He also gets out of the tree, his limbs aching with displeasure as he lands on his feet on the ground and his whole body cracking as he stretches some of the stiffness in it out before he starts walking, his mind alert and wary of whatever might be around to see him go.

*

Peter is sweating heavily by the time he breaks from the jungle and makes it out to sandy ground of the beach. His whole body is moist beneath the costume, the humidity making him hot and slick all over, his thighs chafing as he walks worse than they ever had during any summer in New York. 

He’d removed his mask shortly after he started walking, stuffing it into the neck of his costume and letting it hang, as it was too uncomfortable to keep on. Peter feels strange without it, like he’s walked into class after forgetting to put his pants on before he left home in the morning, but there’s no one on the island but him and Venom and Venom already knows exactly who Peter is. 

There’s no use trying to hide his face from someone that used to share it and the discomfort of having it bare doesn’t outweigh the discomfort he felt with it covering his face and trying to breathe through both the fabric and the air which is thick enough to cut at the same time.

Having it off helps with the breathing, but it still doesn’t stop Peter’s hair from getting soaked with sweat or stop those beads of moisture from rolling down and dripping into his eyes. When he breaks through the jungle to the beach, Peter has an intense urge to strip the rest of the costume off and run into the ocean to scrub himself clean with salt water, to get the sweat off of his body and out of his hair so that he might actually be able to smell something other than his own stink. 

He refrains, obviously. He hasn’t seen Venom at all this morning, but it would be just his luck for Venom to catch him with his pants down. Peter knows that fighting the symbiote again is all but inevitable, but he would still rather be fully clothed when it happens for the sake of his own pride if not his safety.

Besides, bathing isn’t what he came to the beach for anyway. 

He looks out at the ocean, staring out at it and allowing his gaze to drift. He stretches out his hearing and listens to the sound of waves crashing and, farther off, the squawk of seagulls heading in the island’s direction. 

What Peter can’t hear – and what he can’t  _ see _ – is any sign of a ship. Not a cruise ship, not a sailboat, not so much as a paddle board. He also hears no sound of any planes or helicopters and when he looks up, all he sees is blue sky all above him. A stretch of cloud here and there, wispy and wandering, but no sign of any other human beings or any vessels they might be traveling in.

Peter hadn’t actually expected it to be that easy, but disappointment still stings at him. He thinks about staying, waiting, hoping that a ship might pass by after all, but he doesn’t want to be a sitting duck. No doubt that after he’d tried to make a break for that ship yesterday, Venom will expect him to try it again and if Eddie had put his journalistic abilities to use researching this trap as Peter expects he has, then they likely know about the comings and goings around the ocean surrounding the island better than he could ever guess. 

The beach isn’t a safe place to stay, too predictable and exposed with nothing close to a guarantee of it being worth it to stay there, but when Peter swallows and feels the dryness in his mouth and throat, he remembers that he has other worries to concern himself with anyway.

He turns around, putting his back to the beach and the promise of freedom the open ocean both gives and denies him, and goes back into the jungle, a new destination in mind.

*

Heading back to the lake is no less predictable than going to the beach is, but it is necessary. 

Peter can’t let himself get dehydrated or else he may as well just hand himself over to Venom already as it would mean death either way. The lake is the only source of fresh water on the island that he knows of and if Peter knows it, then surely Venom knows that he knows it, too, but still. 

There’s no other choice. Humans, no matter how enhanced, all need water in order to survive.

Peter walks in the direction of the lake and stays on high alert the whole way. He’s hyper aware of every sound, every movement of a leaf blowing in a breeze or sound of a bird flapping its wings in the trees above. His body is tense and something tight is caught in his throat as he moves, a held back scream or a curse, the reckless desire to yell at Venom to just come out and find him already and end this once and for all, whatever ending this might mean.

He feels like he’s being watched at moments and seconds later the feeling will be gone, but Peter has no idea whether that’s because Venom is actually near and playing mind games with him or if he’s just so paranoid that he’s imagining it. 

Not having his spidey sense work for Venom has always been a weakness and now it’s possible that Peter’s natural sense of danger is overcompensating to make up for its lack. It isn’t helpful. It makes him feel like he’s teetering on a high wire that’s littered with eggshells which isn’t a pleasant feeling to have, but it’s one that Venom and Venom alone has always brought out in him more than any other villain.

Peter is almost surprised when he makes it to the lake without incident. 

He’s wary as he approaches the water, his body wound tight as he squats down in front of it and stares into its depths. He’s reminded suddenly of the Narcissus myth he read about in high school English class. His teacher had given them an assignment to read an adaptation of a mythological story and it was a book about Narcissus that Peter had chosen – or, rather, that was the book that Gwen Stacy had given him, slapping it to his chest while he stood by his locker and joking that he shouldn’t read it with the lights off. 

Thinking about Gwen makes Peter’s heart pang now as it always does when he thinks of her and remembering the end of the book, how Narcissus had bent over to kiss his own reflection only for it to reach its dripping hands out of the water to grab him and drag him in to drown, doesn’t make him feel any better. 

Peter  _ had _ read the book with the lights on and then he hadn’t been able to sleep all night because of it, not that he’d ever told Gwen that. The way he feels now is similar but so much worse than he’d felt when he finished the book and sat it on his night stand and just stared at his lit up room, too nervy to go to sleep the way a kid might be if they were afraid of a monster hiding in their closet.

The monster Peter is dealing with now is more real than the ones he’d imagined as a kid, but whether or not it’s hiding, he can only guess at. He looks down at his own reflection in the water and just imagines Venom lurking beneath it like he did yesterday, the creature just waiting to reach out and pull him in. He feels shaky and mildly sick the longer he looks, but then Peter swallows and is reminded again of how dry his throat is, of how badly he needs a drink. 

He steadies himself and then reaches out a tentative hand, skimming his fingers along the lake’s surface, the water rippling at his touch. Nothing happens, not even when he holds his hand above it, his fingers just barely dipping below the surface like a dare for whatever might be hiding beneath.

Peter spends a long, drawn out moment like that, some kind of horrible anticipation bubbling hot and rancid in his belly, before he finally cups the water in his hand and brings it up to his mouth to drink. Still, nothing bad happens, and the moment that palmful of water trickles down his parched throat, instantly relieving the dry ache there, Peter would swear that it’s one of the best feelings he’s ever had in his life. It emboldens him to dip both hands in the water, cupping more of it between them, in order to drink his fill. The coolness of it is so soothing that he splashes his face with the water and wets his hair. It’s no substitute for a real bath or a climate that isn’t so hot or water that comes from a tap, but it makes him feel just a fraction better, just the smallest bit calmer.

It’s typical that it’s then that Venom chooses to pop back up.

Peter only has a split second’s warning that something is wrong. It’s not his spidey sense that tips him off, but something else, the kind of feeling that anyone might have when someone is standing behind them, their presence alone enough to make the hair stand up on the back of your neck and your skin itch between your shoulder blades from the strength of their stare. 

It’s only because Peter is used to listening to his instincts, both spider and naturally given alike, and that he depends on them for survival when he’s out being Spider-Man that he acts before he can think about it and throws himself to the side, leaping a good few feet away and spinning – 

only to see Venom’s massive form looming over where he had been squatting, its giant hand a closed fist where Peter’s head had been just a second ago.

Peter shudders at the image his mind so helpfully provides him of his head enclosed in that fist and being popped like a grape, and then swallows hard when Venom’s attention turns to him. 

His mouth is stretched in a monstrous, sharped tooth smile. His tongue is lolling out, long and dripping. 

Peter stamps down the urge to shudder again, but just barely, and shoves the spike of nervous fear that stabs through him away along with it.

“Did you sleep well, Spider-Man?” Venom asks him. He takes a step forward and Peter instantly tenses, bracing himself. “Did you enjoy the last night of sleep you’ll ever have in your life?”

“Could’ve used a bed,” Peter shoots back, his mouth running on automatic. “A pillow, at least. I don’t suppose you know if there’s a Motel Six around here or something? Since you booked this little getaway for us and all.”

From Venom’s snarl, Peter is going to take that as a  _ no.  _

He doesn’t waste time saying anything else before shooting his webbing high into the trees and swinging away before Venom can pounce on him and Venom’s giant, thick arms close on nothing as he tries, reacting a second too late, hugging the air where Peter just was. Peter lets himself feel the burn of his satisfaction at that even as Venom wastes no time in chasing after him. His heartbeat pounds away the whole while, so hard and loud Peter thinks that if he could spare a hand and actually touch his chest he would be able to feel his heart pressing up against the skin, knocking at his ribs and begging to be let out. 

“You can’t escape us, Spider! Run all you want, but there’s nowhere to go!” Venom shouts behind him, his voice so much closer than Peter is comfortable with. 

He wants to look back to see just how close Venom is, but he doesn’t dare. He can’t afford the distraction, not when he’s in this unfamiliar place and there are so many trees and branches to dodge and maneuver himself around at breakneck speed. Peter settles for pushing himself to go faster, to swing farther. 

He lets himself call back, “Doing just fine escaping you now, aren’t I?” and laughs with more frenzy than amusement when a branch he uses to catapult himself further through the jungle snaps back and hits Venom right in the face.

Serves him right, Peter thinks, and thanks whatever god is listening for the four seconds the hit actually leaves Venom stunned behind him. 

It’s not much, but it’s four seconds of a head start that he didn’t have otherwise and Peter will take his blessings where he can. He knows he needs them. He’s aware even as he’s swinging that his webbing is running low and his only chance at getting away is to put as much distance between he and Venom as possible now before it runs out entirely. Peter is fast, but Venom is faster by sheer virtue of both his size and abilities and his entire lack of human limitations. Even Eddie Brock has a good five inches on him without Venom and Peter doesn’t want to try outrunning either of them with nothing but his own two legs to carry him.

The problem is, Venom doesn’t stop coming after him. The delay that getting hit with a branch caused him doesn’t last nearly long enough and it’s no time before Venom is on the hunt again. Peter can hear the jungle foliage crashing beneath Venom’s feet, the sound getting louder as Venom chases him, as Venom  _ gains _ on him, the distance between them closing so quickly that Peter feels heat flushing up the back of his neck and can’t tell whether it’s his anxiety or Venom’s breath or both. 

All the while, he can tell that his stock of webbing is running lower by the second. He can feel it when he shoots out a string of it and it’s not as thick as it should be and when he puts his weight on it and can actually feel it weakening, a give to it that shouldn’t be there that makes it hard for the material to support him and makes his heart skip before thudding heavily back in place every time he has to shoot a new webbing out and doesn’t know if anything will come.

Peter is already preparing himself for the second it will run out after all and he’ll be forced to run, dreading it and the inevitability of it, but it still catches him by surprise when he tries to shoot out more web and nothing comes out but a pathetic sputter. He’s airborne and panic is ratcheting up his chest as the ground rushes to meet him. He twists his body, flipping, hoping to land on his feet and hit the ground running, but it’s no use. 

Before he can land, something strong and thick snaps out and wraps around his ankle, yanking it backwards hard and twisting it in an unnatural direction as it does. Peter hears the crack of his bone breaking as loud as a gunshot in his ears a split second before the burning pain of it registers. He’s screaming from it as his back hits the ground, slamming into it and knocking the air out of him, the back of his head banging down with blunt force right after on something hard, but instinct still takes over even as the pain rushes through him and flashing spots cover his vision and he can’t quite seem to breathe. 

It has him trying to scramble back on his hands, trying to crawl away, still trying to escape, only for the thing wrapped around his ankle to give another hard yank and drag him right back, making the pain stab at him and shoot through his leg all the way up to his thigh. 

Peter only has a moment – a single vivid moment standing out in the pain and his lungs’ refusal to take in air – to realize that what he sees above him is Venom, the symbiote hulking and huge, his ankle gripped tightly in one of his tendrils and Venom’s rows of sharp teeth grinning in triumph.

Peter only has seconds to stare up at Venom and feel the full weight of his horror crash over him before his vision fades out into blackness and he sees nothing at all.

  
  


*

Peter wakes up to an ache in the back of his head that starts off as a dull throb and gradually increases to a pounding drum beat as he drifts out of unconsciousness and back into the land of the living. The aches in his body come next. His whole form is stiff and heavy, his back one long line of pain against something much softer than the tree trunk he’d last fallen asleep against, and his left ankle in particular throbbing with a burning hurt that makes his headache feel almost peaceful by comparison. 

His mouth is as dry as it was before he drank from the lake earlier, making Peter wonder when exactly earlier was and how long it’s been since he was caught by Venom and knocked out. The fact that his stomach is cramped with the hunger he never managed to sate before, but so much worse now, makes him think it’s been awhile. Hours, maybe, but Peter has no way of knowing how many. 

Somehow the most surprising part of all of that to Peter is that he’s waking up at all. 

At least, it’s the most surprising part until he opens his eyes and sees Eddie Brock sitting in a chair at the foot of what Peter realizes is the bed he’s laying on, his head all human but the rest of him encased in Venom’s hulking black form, wearing the symbiote like a monstrous, padded up body suit. 

Peter’s heart ratchets up in surprise at the sight of Eddie sitting there so nonchalantly, so relaxed like he’s been lying in wait for Peter to wake up for awhile. Peter takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself by cataloging the rest of his surroundings as he exhales, working to get his pounding pulse under control. 

However, there’s just not much else of interest around for him to see.

The bed Peter is on is in the middle of a room that’s so sparsely furnished that it holds only a bedside table in addition to the bed and chair that Eddie occupies. There’s a window to Peter’s right that’s opaque with dust, but there’s enough light coming through it that Peter can see that the sun is still up, though he can’t tell how long he’s been out by the quality of the light. 

His vision is hazy, everything blurred just enough to one side for there to be a noticeable fuzz over it all, but he can still tell that the rest of the room hasn’t been given so much as a cursory dusting in years, either, not if the cobwebs in the two corners Peter can see and the ones above the two closed doors to his left are anything to go by.

All of his observations about the room are secondary to the fact that he’s in the room to begin with – that he’s alive in there, that rather than killing him when he had the chance Venom brought him to this place and put him in this bed and sat waiting for him to wake up instead.

Peter doesn’t believe for a second that he’s alive because Venom has had a change of heart, not after he went through so much trouble to get Peter to this island so that he could finally kill Peter somewhere where no one could stop him in the first place. Peter knows that whatever he’s doing here can’t possibly mean anything good for him and dread coils tight in his gut as he tries to imagine what the explanation for his current stroke of apparent good luck could be.

It coils tighter still when Eddie Brock stands up from his chair and comes towards the bed, closing the distance between them before finally stopping next to it and sitting down at Peter’s side.

The bed dips under Eddie’s weight and he smiles at Peter as he puts his hand –  _ Venom’s _ hand – over Peter’s throbbing ankle. The touch is light, little more than a caress, but the scant weight of it is still enough to send a sharp twinge up Peter’s leg that has him inhaling sharply, biting at the inside of his cheek to stop himself from flinching.

The reaction makes Eddie’s smile widen. Venom’s hand stays on Peter’s ankle, the clawed fingers of it unmoving as it rests there and Peter stares warily up at Eddie, waiting to see how this is going to go.

Every cell in Peter’s body is screaming at him to get away and get out of there as fast as he can even though he knows that his chances of escape are incredibly low. In these close quarters and in his condition, Venom is the one with all the advantages and Peter has to swallow down his fear as he stares up into the reality that he’s entirely at his enemy’s mercy. 

He tries to ignore the hot flush creeping up the back of his neck and the sickly twisting in his belly at how weak he feels, how vulnerable just laying there while Eddie sits so close to him, Venom’s hand on his ankle as much of a threat as a knife to the throat would be from anyone else. He’s determined not to show any of what he feels, not the fear or the discomfort. 

Just because Peter’s afraid doesn’t mean he has to give Venom the satisfaction of seeing it and knowing that he’s the cause.

“You’re finally awake,” Eddie says after a few beats of tense silence have passed. “We were almost starting to think we’d killed you after all.” 

“Funny,” Peter replies hoarsely, his dry throat making his voice sand-paper rough, “and here I thought killing me was sort of the whole point.”

Eddie’s eyes darken at that, the edges of his smile sharpening enough that it makes Peter think it’s more Venom looking at him now through Eddie’s face than it is Eddie himself.

The thought disappears in an instant when the clawed fingers on his ankle tighten down around it and Peter’s whole body jerks as if he’s been electrocuted, his teeth clamping down hard on the inside of his cheek a second too late to try to keep himself from shouting at the sudden burst of pain. Tears come to his eyes unbidden and he yelps anyway, the sound barely stifled. All Peter gets for trying to muffle the noise is the taste of his own blood in his mouth, hot and coppery, sliding down his parched throat like acid.

Eddie goes on like he hasn’t noticed any of it, “You would be dead now if you hadn’t passed out before we could kill you. The only reason you’re alive is because it wouldn’t have been as satisfying if you weren’t awake for us to watch the life drain out of your eyes when we finally ended you.”

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Peter grits out through the pain, “if I don’t apologize for ruining your fun.”

“Oh, but you haven’t ruined it, Spider-Man. You’ve only made us... _ reassess _ .”

Peter would be stupid not to notice the ominous edge to the words or the way Eddie looks at him when he says them, his expression full of malice and dark promise of bad things to come. 

Peter swallows nervously despite himself – or tries to, at least. 

His throat is too dry to do more than spasm at the attempt and it makes him wish desperately he had something to drink. He’s not holding out hope that Eddie or Venom will see fit to bring him some water any time soon, however, if they ever see fit to bring him any at all. 

“What’s the plan, then?” Peter rasps. “You could have just waited for me to come to out there and killed me then. Why go through the trouble of bringing me here?”

“While you were sleeping, we realized something.” Eddie leans forward so suddenly that Peter’s whole body goes tense, a jolt of warning shooting up his spine as Eddie looms over him, glowering with hatred. “Death is too good for you, Spider-Man. We watched you as you slept and the longer we watched, the more we wondered if you might never wake up at all. The thought that you could die so easily in your sleep sickened us. Why should  _ you _ be at peace when you don’t deserve it?”

“So, what?” Peter demands. “You brought me all the way to this island just to decide you’re not going to kill me after all?” 

“No, you’ll still die, Spider,” Eddie promises darkly, “but only after you beg us for your death. You still want to live now, to leave here and go back to your little life to poison more innocents who cross your path, but we’ll change that. We’ll break you down until you realize how futile it is to go on and when you finally reject your own life the way you once rejected us and ask us to put an end to you, only then will you be allowed your peace.”

Peter stares up at Eddie, wide-eyed, his heart pounding hard enough that he can feel it in his throat. 

He doesn’t want to ask. He doesn’t want to know. He just wants all of this to end and to go home, back to his life, back to Mary Jane where he belongs. 

But Peter can’t keep quiet now. 

He steels himself, looks Eddie in the eye, and asks, “And how are you planning to make me do that?”

The sudden change that comes over Eddie’s face is no less shocking than the first time Peter saw it, but it’s somehow even more grotesque to watch with so little space between them. 

Eddie’s human skin ripples as it transforms into inky black stretching up from his neck, crawling up him like a spreading stain or an oil spill. His blunt human teeth mutate into a shark’s mouth, two rows of deadly sharpness stretched out wide, at the same time that his short human tongue elongates and narrows at the end, dripping with saliva as it spills out between those teeth, hanging wet and obscene out of them. The black swallows up his hair next and then his eyes change, going from round and blue to large, white, inhuman shapes with no pupil or iris to be seen in them.

It takes only seconds for any vestige of Eddie Brock to disappear and Venom to fully take his place, but it’s long enough to make nausea roil hot and sour in Peter’s stomach as he watches it.

“We’re so glad you asked, Spider-Man,” Venom drawls, his horror of a mouth widening into a terrifying grin.

It’s all the warning Peter gets before Venom’s giant hand clenches down hard on his ankle, the sharp tips of his claws digging in down to the bone, and the shock of it has Peter screaming in agony as pain rips through him. His body jerks, lurching on to his side as he tries to pull his legs up into himself and away from Venom’s hold.

Peter doesn’t even realize that the fact that he can pull his leg away at all means that Venom has let his ankle go until suddenly he feels the bed sinking with a new added weight and Venom’s hands are on his sides, claws digging into his belly, as he flips Peter roughly over onto his stomach, making Peter groan with more pain as the switch in positions jostles his injury even more more.

“Stop,” Peter gasps before he even realizes what it is he’s asking Venom to stop doing, before he feels the tendrils growing from Venom’s body creeping over him like thick vines, wrapping around his arms and jerking them behind his back to hold them there, immobilizing him, and before he feels one of Venom’s hands on the back of his neck, claws scratching his scalp enough to sting as they dig down under the collar of his costume and rip it violently down, tearing the fabric from top to bottom and leaving Peter’s entire back bare and exposed. 

Even then, Peter is expecting to be clawed, to be hit, for Venom to take his huge, inhuman hands and beat him until he’s bruised and bleeding within an inch of his life.

Peter doesn’t understand what Venom is actually aiming for until he feels those hands on his ass, squeezing him there, and something hard and wet nudges up against his thigh, the shape of it easily discernible even if the size is bigger than anything Peter would have thought possible.

It doesn’t take Peter long to put two and two together then, for panic to burst to life in his chest as he realizes exactly what it is Venom is planning to do to him.

“Stop,” Peter gasps again, a new sense of urgency heavy in the word. 

The panic surges through him, spreading, a nauseous and dizzying feeling combining with the pain that’s still throbbing in his ankle and shooting up his side to make Peter’s vision blur and his body feel flush and weak. He struggles to break free, writhing on the bed, his arms straining against the tendrils wrapped around them, but it’s all useless. 

It’s impossible to break the hold Venom’s tendrils have on him or get away from Venom’s heavy weight behind him. Even as he tries, Peter feels more tendrils crawling up him, wrapping around him, slipping under his body and down the front of his costume. 

He flinches and makes a startled sound when he feels one of those tendrils slipping down between his thighs, wrapping around his soft cock and starting to jerk him off. Humiliation burns through him when his body responds to the touch against his will, his cock getting hard from the unwanted touch like it doesn’t care how sickening Peter finds it.

“You can’t do this,” Peter chokes out, going tense as the tendril around his cock keeps moving and his body wants nothing more than to thrust into the motion. “Venom –“

“We can do this,” Venom contradicts, the dark amusement clear in his voice, “and we will.”

“Venom – Venom, please –“

“Stop talking now, Spider-Man.”

“Venom –  _ Eddie _ –“

It’s the last word Peter gets out before a thick tendril shoots out from around him and forces itself into his open mouth, cutting off his pleas in an instant. 

The thing expands in his mouth, swelling up until his lips are stretched uncomfortably around it and he’s gagging at the tip of it touching the back of his throat. Tears prickle at Peter’s eyes as he tries biting down on the tendril to no avail. It feels like he’s biting at tire rubber and his teeth are useless against it, Venom giving no indication of feeling the bite at all. 

All Peter can do is moan around the thing, the sound muffled and low as he’s rendered all but mute while his body is still barely able to move from the other tendrils that are keeping him bound.

“Better,” Venom comments.

The humiliation Peter feels ratchets up and makes him burn hot with outrage, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling that slams into him when he feels the large, clawed hands on his ass spreading him open and something warm that he recognizes as breath against his hole seconds later. When a long, wet tongue follows, licking a strip right up Peter’s ass and leaving it slick with viscous fluid, there’s nothing that the sound Peter makes can be called except for a sob. 

His cock throbs between his legs as Venom continues to lick at him, aching in time to the swipes of that inhuman tongue against his hole. Peter is hard and wanting as the tendril wrapped around his cock continues jerking him off all the while and he can do nothing but make broken sounds around the thick tendril keeping his lips stretched, gagging him, and shudder uselessly against the bed from the unwanted pleasure Venom is inflicting on him. He flinches when the tip of Venom’s tongue presses against his ass and begins pushing in, the slide of it into him a wet stretch that reaches into the deepest part of Peter’s body and feels like it will never end. 

It’s when Venom’s tongue pulls back and suddenly thrusts back in, twisting as it does, that Peter’s orgasm takes him by surprise, slamming into him out of nowhere like a punch to the gut. His eyes snap shut and he screams around the tendril in his mouth, the sound muffled to nearly nothing, as he comes inside his costume. Venom keeps jerking his cock off through it, pumping him for all he’s worth as his tongue keeps fucking into Peter’s ass, making it wet and loose with every thrust and twist of it inside of him. 

Even after Peter stops coming, when his cock has gone soft and his body slack, his breathing fast and dizzying through his nose, Venom doesn’t stop what he’s doing. The tendril around Peter’s cock keeps playing with him, squeezing around his cock and slipping lower to fondle his balls. The thick tongue in his ass keeps fucking him, leaving his hole dripping with saliva that Peter can feel running down the backs of his thighs, gushing out with every thrust of the appendage into him.

It doesn’t take long for every trace of pleasure from the unwanted orgasm Venom forced out of Peter to fade away, the constant stimulation crossing the line from pleasurable to uncomfortable and then to agonizing as it continues with no sign of stopping. 

Peter groans around the swollen tendril in his mouth at the torment, his body hot and slick with sweat as he strains against his bonds. He tries squirming away from the tongue fucking into him, but between his arms being held behind his back and Venom’s hands holding him down by the hips, he can’t move so much as an inch. He gets nothing for his efforts but more aches, his muscles weak and weary just from trying.

It feels like it’s never going to end. 

Venom’s stamina doesn’t flag in the slightest while Peter only feels more and more exhausted as things go on. He comes twice more from Venom’s tongue and the tendril manipulating his cock and balls. His second orgasm is longer and more drawn out than the first, the rush of pleasure from it a warm pool in Peter’s belly that spreads out through the rest of him, while his third is more pain than pleasure, a too fast shock to his system that’s over as soon as it starts and leaves a sharp sting behind.

By the time Venom’s tongue finally pulls out of him, Peter is a wreck. His whole body is shaking, flushed hot and sweaty, and tears run down from his eyes to soak into the pillow beneath him. The pain in his ankle has turned into a dull throb and the rest of his body aches with it, his muscles heavy and deadened by their weight. His arms feel numb behind his back, his cock sore between his legs, and his jaw aching from where his mouth is still gagged by Venom’s tendril.

Peter sobs with relief around that gag when Venom’s tongue slides back and then rather than thrusting back into him, it slips out of his body entirely, leaving Peter’s hole sloppy with spit and feeling disturbingly empty without it. 

His relief is short lived, however, when he feels the bed shifting behind him and something more blunt and much larger than the tip of Venom’s tongue pressing at his hole that wastes no time before beginning to push in. 

Peter groans as Venom feeds his cock into him inch by agonizing inch. His hole is slick with the viscous saliva Venom’s tongue left behind, but the cock pushing into him now is still big enough that the stretch of it as it penetrates him drags and aches. Peter can’t see it, but the more of it that goes into him, the larger he realizes it is. The girth of Venom’s cock is thick enough on its own, but the push of it is too long by far.

Panic crawls up Peter’s throat as more and more of it goes in with no sign of there being an end to it. It’s too big, too much. It makes Peter feel impossibly full and small beneath it. It’s almost a surprise when the push of it finally ends and Peter can feel Venom’s body pressed flush against his ass, no more of his cock left to slide in.

Peter can hear Venom exhale long and slow behind him. His large fingers flex on Peter’s hips, the tips of his claws digging into Peter’s skin making him whimper.

“Do you feel broken yet, Spider-Man?” Venom asks, the arousal thick in his voice even through the mocking. “What would your friends say if they could see you now, split open beneath us? What would your sweet Mary Jane?”

Peter flinches at Mary Jane’s name before he can stop himself and Venom laughs at the reaction.

Nausea and shame churn like a maelstrom in Peter’s belly. His eyes burn with tears and he clenches them shut, uncaring of the wetness spilling down his cheeks after he does. His throat is too tight, but it’s still too dry to try to swallow down the lump he feels hanging heavy in the back of it. When he tries, all he hears is a pathetic little click.

One of Venom’s hands leaves his hip then and drags slowly up his back, making Peter groan as the claws dig in hard enough to sting, drawing blood as they go that he can feel dripping down his skin. The hand doesn’t stop until it reaches Peter’s head, digging into his scalp. It buries itself in Peter’s hair and grips him roughly by his locks before using the hold to violently jerk his head back so hard Peter is surprised his neck doesn’t break from the force of it.

“Don’t worry,” Venom hisses at him. “We promise she’ll never see you again.”

It’s the last thing Venom says to him before he pulls his cock nearly all the way out of Peter’s ass and slams it violently back in.

Peter screams around the tendril in his mouth and keeps making noise around it as Venom’s cock pulls back and repeats the thrust, then does it again and again and again, starting up a fast, brutal pace fucking Peter with not an ounce of mercy to it. He keeps Peter in place with one of his huge hands gripping him by the hip and the other still fisted in his hair, his claws digging into Peter as he uses them to hold Peter in place to pound his cock into Peter as roughly as he pleases. 

And it does please Venom, Peter can tell. He can feel the giant cock in his ass throbbing as it fucks him and he can hear the sounds of obvious pleasure Venom is making as he uses Peter’s body, growling moans escaping him as he jerks Peter back and forth onto his cock like Peter is little more than a toy for him to use to get himself off with.

Peter is helpless to do anything but take Venom’s cock and wait for it to be over. He can’t move. He can’t escape. He can’t even beg, as little good as begging had done him before. 

All he can do is moan brokenly as Venom thrusts his cock into Peter like it’s a punishment and after awhile, even his moans stop, too, and the only sounds to be heard in the room are coming from Venom – Venom’s moans of pleasure, his pleased grunts every time he fucks into Peter especially hard, and the sound of his flesh slapping against Peter’s every time he thrusts his cock all the way in.

It goes on for so long that Peter’s body starts to feel numb to it, the thrusts of Venom’s cock in his ass becoming a sensation without shape and the feel of Venom’s hands holding him tight nothing more than heavy weights against him. 

Peter’s breathing gets shallow, his eyes heavy, his throat so dry now that it feels like it’s coated with sawdust.

The only thing that stops him from slipping into unconsciousness is a sudden change in the thrusts of Venom’s cock into him. They get faster and harder, Venom’s grip on Peter tightening to two painful points on his hip and in his hair that jerk Peter back into reality as hard as Venom had jerked his head back before. 

Venom finally slams his cock into Peter one last time before going still and groaning louder than ever. Seconds later, Peter can feel hot warmth flooding inside of him as Venom spills load after load of come in his ass, a process that feels as never ending as that first push of Venom’s cock into him did. By the time Venom is done coming, Peter’s stomach feels swollen and aching from the amount of come that’s been spilled into him, and when Venom finally pulls his cock out of Peter a few moments later, Peter can feel his seed gushing out of him, his hole feeling empty and gaping as come trickles down his legs.

Venom’s tendrils start crawling away from Peter next. They pull back from his body and release his arms, the limbs tingling as they flop down to Peter’s sides, but they’re so weak that Peter can’t even lift them. The tendril in Peter’s mouth disappears and closing his mouth takes more effort than it should, his jaw jostling worryingly when he does. When Venom lets go of the grip he has on Peter’s hair, his head drops down like a stone back to his pillow. 

The hand goes back to Peter’s hip, joining Venom’s other one, and Venom uses them to turn Peter over onto his back much more gently than he’d flipped him over onto his stomach before. Peter winces when his back is on the mattress and he can feel the sting of the claw marks on it being irritated from the pressure.

He tilts his head back, wincing again at the ache in his neck, and blinks his eyes open in time to see a reverse of the transformation he saw earlier – Venom’s face receding and Eddie Brock’s taking his place instead of the other way around.

The rest of him is still all Venom, though. It’s Venom’s body that straddles Peter at the waist and Venom’s hands that drag themselves up Peter’s sides, caressing him the way a lover might if it weren’t for the claws on the ends of those fingers pressing into his skin just hard enough to draw little rivulets of blood up in its path. 

It’s Venom’s cock that Peter sees hanging between thick, inky black thighs, the sight of the thing that was in him just moments ago so monstrously large that Peter feels at once sick and horrified looking at it and knowing that his body had taken it within itself. Such a thing seems impossible now that he can actually see the size of it and Peter feels a panic rising in him at the thought of being fucked with that even though he knows the panic has come too little, too late. 

He has to jerk his eyes up and away from it, back to Eddie’s face or else Peter is sure he’ll be sick all over the both of them, but looking at Eddie isn’t much better.

There’s something pleased in Eddies expression as he looks down at Peter, something sated in it and satisfied, but there’s still a hunger there that makes Peter shudder to see it. 

Eddie’s eyes darken when he feels Peter’s shiver against him. Venom’s hands go from Peter’s sides to his front, one resting on his chest and the other lower on his stomach. The tips of his claws press into Peter’s skin like a threat and Peter isn’t so tired that he isn’t aware of how easily Venom could rip into him, past his rib cage, and pull his heart right out of him if he wanted to.

“Do you want to die now, Spider-Man?” Eddie asks, his lips twitching like the thought amuses him and his eyes baring down into Peter like he’s desperate not to miss so much as a second of Peter’s reaction. 

Peter opens his mouth to say something – he doesn’t even know what yet – but all that comes out of him is a harsh, wordless rasp. His whole mouth feels dusty, dry to the bone and he’s suddenly reminded of how very long it’s been since he was at the lake, cupping water in his hand and letting the cool trickle of it slide down his throat. 

Eddie’s amused expression seems to grow at Peter’s inability to talk, a fact that should be at odds with how his eyes darken further. 

The hand on Peter’s chest move upwards until Venom’s clawed fingers are on his lips, forcing their way between them before Peter can stop them. The pads of Venom’s large fingers press down on Peter’s dry tongue and the tips of his claws are so close to the back of Peter’s throat that Peter doesn’t dare move, lest they cut him either by accident or on purpose. 

“You must be thirsty,” Eddie says. “You didn’t get nearly enough to drink at the lake and we haven’t offered you anything since. Well, Spider-Man, let it not be said that we’re poor hosts. We’ll give you exactly what you need. We won’t even make you ask us for it – this time.”

He doesn’t give Peter even a second to feel his confusion at the words before the two fingers in his mouth are joined by another, and Peter’s gasping in discomfort and panic at how crowded they are in his mouth, pushed between his teeth to keep them pried open. He wants to flinch away from them, to struggle, but Peter is too mindful of the sharp claws in his mouth and how close they are to the back of his throat. 

But the panic Peter feels over that possibility is nothing compared to what surges through him when he sees Venom’s hand go to the giant cock between his legs and his mind immediately supplies him with the picture of Venom trying to force his cock between Peter’s lips.

Peter jerks his eyes up to Eddie and from the amused look on Eddie’s face, Peter knows he can tell exactly what Peter is thinking. 

“Make sure you swallow it all,” Eddie advises him. “Don’t be ungrateful.”

The words do nothing to calm Peter’s panic, but only throws more fuel onto it. He squirms beneath Venom’s heavy body and tries to lift his arms to push him away, but he’s too weak to do anything, all of his strength sapped from him and nothing in comparison to the person on top of him. He can only wait in trepidation for Eddie to move closer to him and do what Peter is sure he will – but Eddie doesn’t.

Eddie stays right where he is with Venom’s hand around his inky black cock aiming it right at Peter but not moving any closer and Peter doesn’t understand what he’s doing until the clear stream of liquid suddenly shoots right out of the cock towards him and Peter barely has enough time to shut his eyes before he feels the hot urine hitting him in the face, dripping down his nose and cheeks before the aim straightens out and it starts going into his mouth instead.

Peter makes a garbled noise of pure disgust and tries to shut his mouth against the pour of it, but Venom’s fingers keep his mouth pried open, forcing Peter to take it. He chokes as the urine hits the back of his throat, coughing violently as it wets his dry mouth and some slides down his throat anyway, the taste of it hot and acrid against his tongue making him gag. 

It sputters off soon enough, the stream going from his mouth to his chin and dribbling down his neck before it stops entirely, but Peter continues to cough and retch even after it’s done. He barely notices it when Venom’s fingers pull out of his mouth or Eddie gets up from the bed until moments later a piece of cloth hits his face and Peter opens his eyes and pushes it away, still gasping, to see that it’s a towel and that Eddie is the one who threw it. 

“You –” Peter sputters at him, but he doesn’t know how to finish it. 

Eddie only smirks at Peter anyway, unbothered. 

“We only gave you what you needed, Spider-Man. Now, answer the question we asked you before – are you ready to die yet?”

Peter stares at him, incredulous. His pulse is still pounding hard in his chest and the taste in his mouth is enough to make him want to throw up all the nothing he has in his stomach. His body is a catalog of hurt and filth and still, Peter...doesn’t want to die. 

The thought of it makes his heart thump uneasily and Peter shiver on the bed.

Eddie makes a small noise that Peter doesn’t know how to interpret at his silence.

“A pity,” Eddie says. “It looks like you need more breaking after all.”

Peter tenses, waiting for him to do something else, but all Eddie does is turn around and head to one of the doors. He opens it and pauses before going out.

“Leave if you want,” Eddie tells him without looking back. “There’s nowhere on this island you can run to where we won’t find you and bring you back. You’re in our prison, Spider-Man, and the only release you’ll get is the one we decide to give you.”

He goes then, shutting the door behind him, leaving Peter alone on the bed staring after him with nothing but his own dread for company.


End file.
